


Other People's Children

by roguefaerie (samidha)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, As in by the 'caregiver', Assistance at Home, But in the worst way, Caretaking, Dark, Disability, Disability Community, Disabled Author, Employing Caretakers, Employment, Evil, Friendship, Gen, Horror, It's supposed to be uncomfortable, Magical Realism, Moderated Comments, Original Work Ported to Tumblr, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Personal Care Assistants, Physical Disability, Pronouns are deliberate, Psychological Horror, The abled world proving how terrifying it is, The system doesn't work, The transness is subtext, This story is not about long-suffering able-bodied people, Y'all are scary, Yes it's usually this terrifying all the time, caregiver abuse, nonbinary author, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/roguefaerie
Summary: A story that explores being at the mercy of the able-bodied.





	Other People's Children

**Author's Note:**

> Personal Care Assistants (or personal assistants) are (often) what disabled people call the people who assist at home to allow us to continue to live a life in and outside of our homes. It's not very glamorous. This was originally written for an anthology which folded, then posted to Tumblr and now I am porting it here due to the recent Tumblr problems. Comments are screened to avoid ableism on my story. Originally written in spring of 2016.

Speeding through the subway station at five-thirty on a Tuesday, the wheels of Corey’s power wheelchair whirred underfoot while their best friend, Bailey, talked their ear off, the words a welcome balm. This was an early evening ritual continued as always, recounting the ridiculous bullshit that laced every day--

“He swore he’d seen me there before. He wouldn’t leave me alone all night. Swore up and down I was his cousin’s friend in a wheelchair. Maybe I just forgot,” Bailey said.

Corey listened and smiled the smile the two of them know as the reflex one kept at hand for the times it’s needed badly enough.

Both of them considered the facts. A strange man insisting he knew Corey’s very closest friend and took it all a step further by refusing to listen when he was told this was not the case. Horrible and invasive, but definitely not the weirdest gripe of the day, week or even this year alone. This was pretty standard in either of their lives, actually.

“Fuck him,” Corey said with false cheer. “May his teeth fall out. My train’s here, I’ll call you back.”

“Seeya!” the reply was a relieved sing-song. The call had done what it was meant to do, for now. 

Corey and Bailey each knew who the other was and what they’d need at any given time.

The smile on Corey’s face softened and brightened as the line clicked off. They took a deep breath, then moved forward and drove onto the train, a maneuver which required concentration, and another fake look, one of patience and gratitude that able bodied people felt was required for the slightest acknowledgment of a disabled person’s presence.

This was not horror. This was every single day. This was an okay day. Maybe even a good one. On this day, Corey felt human.

*~*~*

The walk home had been pleasant as Corey swept through the fall air. There’s more wind resistance in a speeding chair, meaning it was best to travel bundled up a bit more than the average bear but the weather wasn’t something Corey minded one bit. This day was still counting as a good one when Corey arrived at the building and the warmth of home, definitely worth appreciating after the temperature outside. This was almost worth a real smile.

For a little while, at least.

Corey had hired and paid a woman to work as a personal care assistant in the evenings. She was meant to assist with daily living tasks based on the level of help needed to mitigate disability. Her name was Beatrice and she was twenty minutes late. This was a common occurrence in the world of disability services and assistance, but not typical of this employee. 

Dealing with many unreliable employees over the years meant the task of seeking their help came with a constant low thrum of anxiety. When someone was late, running through hypothetical scenarios of what might have happened was also typical. Things could go from standard and dependable to simply having no one available on zero notice with stunning regularity, an actual norm of needing this type of assistance, even with pay. Respect for employers was the exception and not the norm for a bunch of people who looked at such work as charity done out of the good of their hearts, even if it came with a paycheck. This had never been a problem with Bea before.

Corey thought about what may have happened to Bea. Maybe a hit and run, a sudden medical crisis, an emergency with her neighbor. Any of these and many other possible scenarios could easily take away reliable access to assistance, hope of a hot meal or a relatively clean house. Yet the reality of what was about to happen was something else entirely. Something mundane, a minute and predictable disaster that was nevertheless unexpected.

Beatrice walked into work as if being late isn’t even on her radar for the evening and Corey’s stomach was already growling when the door opened and Bea was finally there. There was a determined look on her face that made Corey’s stomach sink as recognition dawned. Beatrice was about to say something very uncharacteristic, at least for her. Dozens of other employees over a lifetime of workers, yes, but not Bea.

“I’m leaving,” is all she said. Corey’s attention was suddenly taken up with trying not to panic. Getting out of bed, out of the house and to work were all still on the table. Hot meals and a sense of security less so. Corey started brainstorming about takeout food and badly-made sandwiches that barely tasted like anything but bread.

“Tomorrow has to be my last day,” Bea said, and Corey’s stomach lurched, hunger evaporating in an instant. There was a dull feeling of betrayal, but this was not unfamiliar territory. Being seen as a person at all was a luxury often not afforded to Corey. The sting came only from the fact that it was Bea who proved this right yet again.

Corey thought about calling Bailey back but exhaustion seeped in and paused that plan. Waiting a little while to do it seemed the wiser course of action. Corey decided instead to eat a few Oreos and grab an iced coffee from the corner as a consolation prize for suddenly losing the person who had once been the best personal care assistant in quite some time with no notice or consideration. Bea was not the literal best, of course, but the best that was available then. There was no way to get around replacing her with someone whose reliability would remain to be seen.

When it was time to call Bailey at last, Corey leaned into this common hell for disabled people and let it seep into the first words of the conversation.

“Bea’s gone,” Corey said, shaking slightly with emotion. It wasn’t usually hard to call Bailey. It was just the exhaustion. All reserves were gone.

“I was wondering why you called back late,” Bailey said. “I’m sorry. I thought she was one of the good ones.”

“So did I.”

“Can’t believe she planned to just disappear on you.”

“Me either,” Corey said, and admitted, “This one blindsided me,” and a fresh wave of frustration broke over the conversation. All the same, it had been worse before. Much worse. And Bailey had always been there. They would both remember that. It wasn’t worse.

“Can I get a round of, ‘Fuck her?’ Kidding. Kidding.” Corey continued, then sighed. Time for bigger person mode, as always. “I’m sure she’s just going through something. So that’s that.”

Bailey gave an answering sigh. “I’m sorry. You know what you need? Some wine.”

“I’ve got Oreos.”

“Sugar. Same thing? Nah. Not the same thing. But close enough, I guess.”

“Wine tomorrow.”

“I dunno how you do all this with so little social lubrication.” A soft laugh winds its way down the line. “Love you.”

“I guess I just enjoy fulfilling the stereotype of the pure and virginal cripple,” Corey teased. “Love you too. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, unless no one shows up later and I really need a 3 AM shot in the arm.”

“Good thing you’re not dealing with Bea.”

Bailey’s sardonic smile was evident in her voice. “No kidding. Would the two of us have luck that bad on the same day?”

“Let’s try not to find out.”

“Indeed, let’s not.”

*~*~*

Being alone at home was sometimes better than the bustle of a work day, even after a string of nights like the ones following Beatrice’s departure. Sometimes things were worse. Sometimes there was employees around for errands and chores to get done and sometimes no one was available for three weeks or more. Sometimes getting to work was fine, but there were times it was impossible between PCA absences and all the side jobs given to disabled people (the job of going to doctors, the job of managing attendant staff) that are really each their own full time commitment.

Corey’s mother had said once between the beatings she doled out that storms were meant to be weathered, and storms were never that scary anyway.

These days there was Bailey, and sure, local contacts worth trusting half as much would be great too, but they were hard to find. Most of Corey’s social circle lived in outer Mongolia (okay, Colorado, but with travel being the pain it was, her people might as well have been on another continent) but they’ve all helped in the ways they could, especially Bailey. Nightly calls from people who knew exactly what to say were priceless. Corey treasured each time Bailey launched into another goofy story about Minx, the emotional support cat, and there was room to laugh together. In those moments the laughter held loneliness at bay, pushing back against the inability to tell who would be forced to be alone and stranded next.

*~*~*

Two weeks passed without much help at home. The ad Corey placed was garnering lackluster results on Craigslist. There had only been a few dead ends so far. The kitchen floor was sticky, and a light bulb that was unreachable from a seated position had blown out, but work at the office had continued at a steady and productive pace and a performance review came and went the previous week with positive results. All this despite stress from working behind the scenes to replace Miss Gone-Tomorrow.

Pickings were remaining slim, with nothing arriving since the application from someone who gave a number that didn’t work. Corey had actually run the ad multiple times with no results, but was considering sending an answer to the applicant whose resume arrived that morning. The applicant’s name was Gigi and her qualifications looked decent.

CPR and first aid, while not necessary for daily practice on shift, indicated she had been prepping for this sort of job, and nothing about her work experience set off immediate red flags that she wouldn’t be open to suggestions during on-the-job training. That alone was an amazing sign.

Over lunch Corey decided to give Gigi a chance and prepared mentally for another phone interview. They had always been done in the hours after work, offering an idea of the applicant’s demeanor and commitment to the work they are about to be asked to do. A five minute phone check-in routinely answered a few lingering questions about the applicant as easily as it offered them a platform to ask directions and firm up the timing.

Corey had tried to engage with one other applicant this way in the early days of running the ad without any success. Honestly, things are so often this way that none of it had come as a surprise.

“Sure,” someone named Vanessa had said in her phone interview, seeming bubbly and engaged, signs that the check-in might come to fruition. “I’ll see you then,” when they had scheduled a sit-down for two days later. When time had come for the interview, though, she hadn’t come, nor answered her phone or called to offer an excuse. 

Corey pulled up Gigi’s email. Her phone number, with a local cell phone area code, was on her resume. It was easy to begin to dial. 

Rain begins overhead and Corey’s head filled with a dull ache. With three digits dialed, the phone was suddenly very heavy and fell back down onto the table.

Corey thought about calling later, when the headache had passed.

Later.

Later.

Days passed since the failed attempt to call Gigi. Another light had burnt out, this one in the bathroom. Corey rolled to work all week with a migraine that hadn’t let up since the night of the failed call. The freezer was coming up on empty but it hasn’t mattered much with the migraine stomach from hell. At least there was a small blessing in only being able to handle the lightest of meals. Having more food in the house was not going amiss.

The last thing Corey wanted to do was make that call. So an email went out instead. It would have to do.

Gigi arrived on time for her interview, wearing sensible but stylish clothing, and her smile--her smile was the first sign she was happy to be here. 

Her smile.

She was happy. Corey smiled back.

It was infectious, that was all, and Corey wanted to give an impression: appreciative that she came, but not desperate.

"Thank you for coming," Corey said. The gratitude was mostly genuine. After all, out of this batch of applicants, Gigi was the first to come to her interview. Corey would never understand job applicants who gave non-working numbers or people who refused to show up to interviews without so much as a single call.

"You're welcome," Gigi said, and when "honey," didn’t follow, nor "sweetie," nor any other false term of endearment, Corey’s smile widened a little bit. One test had just been passed. It would be all right to relax just a fraction and maybe to consider what it would be like to see Gigi Gates’ face most evenings of the week after work.

"It's good to be here," Gigi said, turning that same smile directly toward Corey. “I’d like to see what I can do for you.”

Something, something was gnawing at the back of Corey’s mind as the headache returned, dull but present once more.

Gigi’s smile didn’t move. It hadn’t moved once.

 _Thunk_.

Corey kept a tool called a reacher on the hallway table, a long metal tube with a handle and squeezy button on one end which controlled a pincer tool on the other. It was there to offer Corey the option of reaching high enough to throw the chain on the front door. It had not moved.

The chain thudded home on its own. Corey knew because Gigi hadn’t moved either and no one had the reacher in their hand.

“It’s good to be here,” she repeated.

She dropped a bag in the front hall. It fell with a rather impressive sound, like it was full of bricks.

“Don’t you worry,” she said from behind the smile that didn’t move. “I can sleep on the couch. We’re going to have a lot of fun. It’s so good here. I bet you need a lightbulb changed, don’t you.”

All the lights in this room were working fine. Bile rose in Corey’s throat.

“Yes.”

“Do you have any in the house?”

“I’m not sure,” came the answer, something objectively true and yet horrible to admit--except--

“Well, dear, you’ll definitely have to get some. I saw the pharmacy on the corner. Why don’t you go and get some and I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Corey watched the chain on the door slide itself free once more and had to hold back a bout of _oh shit I’m fucked_ uncomfortable laughter. 

“Now go.”

*~*~*

Corey did go and get the light bulbs. The nearby pharmacy was two blocks down and once outside of the apartment the almost-ever-present headache cleared quickly. Getting the bulbs took all of five minutes. Once back inside, all too soon, it was clear Gigi had been true to her word. She was still there. The same smile was still on her face, never moving.

“Good job!” It was unclear if this was better or worse than sweetie or honey but given that this person showed no sign of leaving--

“Um. Thanks. So….”

“I think we’re going to be a great team,” Gigi said. “You know, just visiting with you, I feel better. Let me change the lightbulbs.”

Corey moved to start showing Gigi where the blown bulbs were before stopping to think, but the stranger moved ahead of the chair, cutting off Corey’s path, and found each of them easily.

Of course, she has been in the apartment on her own now. Maybe she had already looked around while Corey was down the street.

Maybe she had looked through all of Corey’s stuff.

“I’ll be right back,” was all Corey said before opening the apartment door and heading into the outer hallway and closing Gigi inside. Once away from her, Corey whirred over to the elevator and headed down into the lobby, slowly thinking over what to do next.

The next logical step, as always, was to dial Bailey. It would be fine to just leave a message. It would be fine.

When riding in the chair, Corey carried a bag safely slung across her body so as not to interfere with the joystick. Pulling the phone from the depths of the bag, it was clear that the screen was blank. A moment later it became equally clear that the device was unresponsive as if the battery had run down. It had been at seventy-five percent when Corey was waiting for Gigi before her interview, ready in case anything had come up or she had been lost.

Now the phone was dead. There was no denying it. All of the spare chargers were inside the apartment. Inside the apartment with Gigi.

Corey had left a strange woman in her apartment alone.

_If she hadn’t gone through my stuff before--_

The thought did not complete, but then again it didn’t have to.

The headache redoubled in strength. Corey leaned forward and to the side and retched onto the linoleum floor of the apartment lobby. She had to get out of here. Into the air. Maybe her phone would work out there.

_Corey, my dear._

The thought pushed through her mind, escalating the pain in her head.

 _When you’re done, come back upstairs_ , the thoughts that were not her own continued. _We have so much more to do._

No. No. Corey wouldn’t go upstairs. They drove haphazardly in her chair through the lobby doors and outside. The further from Gigi….

The safer it would be.

Right?

The air around them was refreshing, a slight breeze buffeting them as they drove away at top speed. When it was possible to see better through the pain, Corey checked the phone again.

Nothing.

Bailey. There had to be a way to let Bailey know.

But there was no battery, let alone a signal.

The street was completely empty, nothing but spare bits of dirty paper rustling along the sidewalk. Still, Corey kept going, and going, and going, and yet…

It felt impossible to get anywhere. First it just seemed that was the panic talking, but then, looking down, Corey considered something else. All the knobs on the power chair were in the right places to be going top speed indeed, thank you very much. That was nowhere near the speed Corey was going, though.

Everything was slowing down, like in a movie, and the cool breeze had stopped. No one was anywhere. Corey was alone. Jamming everything as far forward as possible did nothing. The chair was moving, yes, but slower and slower the harder Corey fought for speed. 

Then, finally, the air shivered and the world pushed back.

Not hard enough to send Corey’s 300-pound power chair into a full spin, but enough to be unmistakable. Pushing backward..

 _Corey_ , Gigi’s voice called, clawing its way inside, an invading force. _Corey, where are you going?_

Corey couldn’t see. The sun was suddenly blinding, the pain too intense even to drive the wheelchair. It hardly mattered, though. There was nothing. Nothing else. There was no way forward at all.

There was still no wind, no movement in the air, except something was toppling the awnings of the nearby buildings, ripping them down as if the only sign that anyone had been here was nothing more than butcher-paper-thin nothingness. There was only silence, empty concrete, the buildings ripping down, and Corey. Soon the space devoid of people would be devoid of anything else, either. Nothing would be left behind, nothing moving or alive.

Just like Gigi’s smile.

There was nowhere to go but back inside. Corey experimentally backed the chair a bit further toward the apartment building and the universe allowed it.

Corey moved on auto-pilot. The lobby of the building was now completely empty.

A sardonic thought flitted through Corey’s mind. In this world rapidly emptying of color and form, maybe the elevator wouldn’t work. Maybe the button would fall off the wall when pressed.

Moving toward the elevator, pushed along by the terrible, empty wind, Corey saw that the bank of elevators had the most structure out of anything visible inside or outside the building. The elevator button engaged and the usual soft ping sounded as it arrived. The doors opened smoothly.

Maybe Corey could stay right here. 

The air shivered once more and pushed.

_Come here, dear. I’m your friend._

Nowhere else. There was nowhere else.

Corey’s chair whirred, the noise suddenly loud in the sea of no-sound no-form that was whooshing into nothing all around.

The elevator engaged and rose to the correct floor, the carpet moving eerily under the wheelchair as Corey headed back to the one remaining apartment door. Once inside, the door shut itself and, of course, the latch slid home.

The apartment was dark and getting darker, but Gigi was still there, positively luminous. The air in the tiny living space flowed around her as if she were pulling it in with her very presence. She had also changed her clothes, now wearing a billowing night-dress of sheer fabric Corey couldn’t place.

Corey allowed hypervigilance to be a guide in surveying the rest of the apartment.

It was dark inside, yes, but more than that, out one tiny window stars were visible, as if the apartment itself had become detached from time. Five minutes ago it had been day, a day losing all of its color but day nonetheless. Hadn’t it?

The apartment was dark for another reason too. The relatively empty white walls were no longer white. Wood paneling, or something like it, covered the walls now. This meant the few small pieces of art and photographs Corey had collected over the years were no longer visible.

A ladder stood in one corner, alone, definitely not something that Corey owned. How much time had passed? While Corey had been desperate to make a phone call to Bailey, it seemed the world had slipped out of time somehow and Gigi had completely redecorated what space there was left.

Corey surveyed the furniture--the same--but suddenly realized that it was strewn with objects.. The contents of the bag Gigi had left in the hall were all over every visible surface. Junk. Clothes. Garbage that had definitely not been there before. Tools, including a claw hammer.

_A claw hammer?_

Gigi turned her face to Corey again, her face almost completely featureless except that smile that never moved but was still there. Everything else that had been Gigi--eyes, nose, ears, everything, had gone the way of the rest of the universe, disappeared. That damn smile was still there.

 _I see you found my hammer_ , the thing that had been Gigi Gates said in Corey’s mind, then bent and picked it up.

Corey’s eyes stayed right on the hammer as darkness descended and less and less of the garbage and other detritus Gigi had brought was visible at all. Corey had to watch the hammer.

_It’s so good to be home. I feel wonderful here. We make a great team. Just you and me._


End file.
